The Freedom in the Moment
by Sabulum Procella
Summary: Sweets finds a moment of peace in his busy schedule. Almost.  Oneshot


**Title:** The Freedom in the Moment**  
>Chapter:<strong> Oneshot  
><strong>Genre:<strong> General/Humor  
><strong>Rating:<strong> K+  
><strong>Timeline:<strong> None specific.  
><strong>Characters:<strong> L. Sweets, S. Booth  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Sweets finds a moment of peace in his busy schedule. Almost.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I do not own Bones, the Smashing Pumpkins, the concept of death metal, astronomy (or astrology for that matter), the FBI, Sweets' office, the fictional Jeffersonian, or Leonard Bernstein.

* * *

><p>For once in a good long while, Lance Sweets had nothing to do. No cases to work; no case <em>files<em> to look over, either with the Jeffersonian or otherwise; no patients to see or FBI agents to evaluate; nobody barging into his office uninvited. Daisy was out of town, and he had worked on his "personal" (i.e. Booth and Brennan-related) projects enough to satisfy him for the time being.

In short, Sweets was... free. He could do anything he wanted.

It was a somewhat giddy prospect after working so hard for so long.

Very carefully, the psychologist sat down in his favorite chair, and leaned back slowly until he was almost reclining. Then he double-checked that he was actually alone—just in case. These peaceful moments were so rare lately, he had a paranoid sense that something was about to happen to snatch it away. He listened carefully for the sound of footsteps outside his office, or a phone ringing signaling that his secretary was about to come in with news. But there was nothing at all to indicate he was about to be disturbed.

Finally, after a long period of nothing but silence, Sweets grinned. 'I'm alone! Score!'

Heaving a happy sigh, the young man with two doctorates propped his feet up on the table and dug around between the chair cushions. Moments later, the silence was shattered as Lance indulged in one of his few vices:

Hard rock.

"My reflection—dirty mirror! There's no connection—to myself! I'm your lover—I'm your zero! I'm in the face of your dreams of glass."

Lance rocked out with his remote, cranking the volume up as loud as he could possibly get away with and grinning like a fool. It was more than slightly immature, but so what? Who cared! He loved it!

Death metal, his former love, was reserved only for when he was upset; mainstream rock was his new favorite way to unwind.

"I never let on... that I was on a sinking ship! I never let on, that, I, was, down!"

"Sweets."

Lance gave a very undignified shriek and quickly fumbled to stop the music.

Booth stood still in the doorway with a folder in hand, raising an eyebrow in obvious astonishment at his psychologist.

"A-Agent Booth! I... didn't hear you come in!" Sweets quickly righted himself and cleared his throat. He straightened his tie in an attempt to regain some dignity, never mind that he was still holding the remote in one hand.

The agent blinked repeatedly, as if trying to get past the vision of what he had just seen. Then he went from staring in astonishment to looking somewhat concerned. "Hey. You alright, Sweets?"

Sweets paused. Then, with a sigh, he realized that Booth was in teasing mode. He gave up primping, realizing that it wouldn't help. "Yes, I'm fine," he muttered resignedly.

But Booth surprised him. "No, I mean seriously. You upset or something?"

Blinking in surprise, the psychologist realized that Booth was completely serious.

"Um..." he fumbled. "Yeah, I'm cool. Why wouldn't I be fine?"

Booth quickly realized that his concern had been misplaced, and regained his composure instantly. He switched to defensive mode, entering the room with a slight swagger. "Y'know, it's just. The music. Your 'dead metal' stuff or whatever."

Sweets continued to stare blankly.

"You, uh, said you only listen to it when you've had a bad day," Booth finally clarified, looking uncomfortable.

Sweets blinked again. He was simultaneously touched by Booth's concern (and the fact that he had remembered such a small comment from so long ago), and incredulous at his friend's lack of recognition of _the Smashing Pumpkins_. Seriously, this rock aficionado had never heard "Zero" before?

Booth was starting to look annoyed at Sweets' silence, so the psychologist shook himself. "It's, uh, it's called death metal, Agent Booth," he said. "And that... um... yeah, that... wasn't it..." Wow. Sweets was still dumbstruck.

Booth scowled. "Sure sounded death-y to me."

"Well, it's not."

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Booth was clearly irritated by his misunderstanding of the situation. "Look, I need your help with this. You got a minute?"

Sweets nodded, having successfully regained his professionalism by this point. "Sure, hit me with it."

"Don't tempt me," Booth muttered.

The agent finally shut the door behind him, entering fully into the room. He waved the folder—which Sweets had admittedly been deathly curious about—in the air pointedly, then dropped it on Sweets' desk. The psychologist grabbed it eagerly. "Dead guy. Lots of girlfriends." Booth looked disgruntled as he explained. "Real nutjob... into astronomy."

Assuming that Booth had meant "astrology," Sweets tried not to grin too much as he opened the file and glanced through it. "I'll have it done by tomorrow."

"Yeah, don't bet on it," Booth sighed, making Sweets look up curiously. "Look, just... it's a weird one, okay? Swing by the Jeffersonian later. You'll want to see this body for yourself."

His interest piqued, Sweets nodded with wide eyes. "I will." He glanced down at the folder in fascination.

Booth frowned at Sweets' enthusiasm, but didn't comment. "Thanks, Sweets." He turned to leave, throwing a wave over his shoulder. "I'll see you."

"Yeah... thanks," Sweets said, seemingly engrossed in the rap sheet before him. But at the sound of footsteps, he dropped the facade and glanced up anxiously. He stared at Booth's retreating back in anticipation, waiting for the agent to leave. Maybe he was lucky and Booth would forget the whole "singing" thing?

But, just as Booth was reaching for the door, he paused.

Sweets cursed silently, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the agent's grin.

"...You know you shrieked like a little girl, right?" Booth laughed.

Sweets sighed, shaking his head as the agent left and bowing his head over the files dejectedly. He would never live this one down. He was sure of it.

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><p><em>"The joy of music should never be interrupted by a commercial." - Leonard Bernstein<em>

My first fanfic submission to this site... so of course it's pointless fluff. :P I've lurked FFnet for ages, finally decided to post a work of my own, and _this_ is what you get. A fluffy, un-betaed, mildly humorous ficlet which I wrote in my spare time between NaNoWriMo. Is that telling of my character? ...Yes. Yes, it is.

I'm the type of person who may never finish a serious, multi-chaptered fic... despite the fact that I'm working hard on one now. Um. But anyways, Sweets is one of my favorite Bones characters, so I thought: why not post something to my account finally? Like that oneshot about Sweets?

So I did.

R&R if you like, or just lurk. I know what that's like. Either way, I hope you enjoyed this fluffy ficlet!


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